


The House Sitter

by invisame



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 16:25:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisame/pseuds/invisame
Summary: You house sit for your friend John and things don't go as expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in an AU where stupid Russian kid didn't take John's car and he returned to work in his own time after Helen's death.

You knocked on the door of your friend John Wick's house and looked out at the view as you waited for him to answer. He was heading out of town again on business and you were here to watch the house and dog as always. He'd been married to your best friend until she died of cancer after a long horrible battle. You'd always loved John for the way he treated her and took care of her when she was sick. You had to admit that lately you were feeling a different sort of affection for your old friend. But you held no illusions that he felt the same. He had been completely in love with Helen. 

You turned with a smile when you heard the door open. He smiled back and stepped aside so you could come in. You dropped your bag on the floor and gave him a hug which he returned without reservation. After he shut the door, he grabbed your bag and carried it down the hall to the guest room you always used. "Hey, Y/N. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

His low, rough voice sent a thrill through you as it always did. You could listen to that man read the phone book and be happy. "It's no problem, John." Contrary to what John believed, you knew exactly who he was and what his career was. You'd known the moment you met him.

Ironically, Helen seemed to attract a type. You'd been in the same line of work as John since you were a teenager. Your reputation wasn't nearly as lethal as his and your identity was far more secure. Everyone knew your codename, but you'd done your best to make sure your real name didn't get connected to it. You'd never told Helen though for obvious reasons. When they'd first started dating, before he 'retired' you'd soothed her worries. Helped convince her that John wasn't cheating on her. It was obvious to you from the beginning that he loved Helen and would protect her with his life. Unfortunately for both of you, her killer wasn't something either of you could shoot. 

 John's pit bull trotted in from the other room, wagging his tail. "Hey, buddy," you cooed and crouched down to scratch behind his ears. He nudged the side of your neck and licked your cheek, making you giggle. "You got a name yet, cutie?" you asked and looked up at John for an answer.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head, his long hair hiding part of his eyes. He needed a haircut. Maybe you'd offer to give him one when he got back. 

"How about Buster?" you suggested.

John shook his head again. "Haven't found the right name yet. Nothing fits him."

You rubbed the dog's head again then stood. "We'll find something. He still answering to dog?" Your lips twitched as you tried not to smile.

John did smile and chuckled. "Yeah." He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck then glanced at his watch. "I've got to get changed and head out. You good?"

You nodded. If you didn't know where everything was by now, that was your own fault. "I think I'll take him for a walk. I'll take my key in case you need to leave before we get back."

His dark eyes ran over you before he nodded once. "Sounds good."

Your eyes followed him as he headed up to his bedroom then you turned and grabbed the leash from the hook on the wall. The dog was so well behaved he didn't need it, but the neighbors got pissy when you took him out without it. He danced around your feet as you snapped on the leash and led him out the door. 

***

It was your third day in the house. You were curled up on the couch reading a book and snacking on popcorn. The dog curled up beside you with his head on your lap. Your phone buzzed on the table beside you and you answered without looking at the screen. Almost no one had the number. "Hello?"

 "Hey, Y/N," John's whiskey rich voice came through. 

"Hey, John. How's the trip? Finish your business?"

"Yeah. I'm heading back now. It'll be late before I get there. Don't wait up. How's everything there?"

"Quiet," you answered. 

He hummed. "Good. You're not letting the dog on the couch, are you?"

You scratched his head. "I feel like answering that question would be ill advised."

John chuckled. "At least I know you're honest, Y/N."

You grinned. "Besides, given the amount of hair I vacuumed off the couch yesterday I'd say I'm not the only one that lets him up here."

"I told you not to clean when you're there," he chastised though there was no anger in it.

"And I told you that you pay too much for me to sit on my ass, so there we are."

"There we are," he agreed, his tone light. "Hey, Y/N, I've been meaning to ask you..." he trailed off.

"Ask me what?" you said after a moment when he didn't continue on his own.

"Never mind," he said. "I'd rather ask you in person. I'll see you in the morning."

He hung up before you could respond. No sooner had you put the phone down than the doorbell rang. You frowned. John never had visitors and he always told you if he was expecting a package. The dog lifted his head and looked at the door. He stood slowly, his hackles raising. He growled low and the noise unsettled you. He wasn't the kind of dog that barked or growled at everything.

You stood and slipped your phone into your pocket. You also grabbed your handgun off the table where you'd left it. You padded to the door, the dog trailing right behind you. A glance at the screen that connected with the camera outside showed a man in a suit standing on the porch with his hands in his pockets. You pressed the button that let you talk to him. "Can I help you?"

The man jumped slightly and looked around before spotting the camera. He smiled into it. "Yes, my name is Detective Mitchell. I'm looking for a Mr. John Wick."

You scowled. This all seemed rather odd to you. "Can I see some ID please?"

He pulled out a wallet and held it up to the camera. A detective's badge was on one side, a photo ID on the other. "Well, I'm sorry, Detective but John is not available right now. I'll have him call the department as soon as possible."

The man put his ID away and frowned at the camera. "I'm afraid that is not acceptable. Where is Mr. Wick?"

Boston. "I'm afraid I don't know."

"Listen, could you just open the door so we can discuss this face to face?" he said, trying to sound carefree. 

"Absolutely, Detective. Just produce a warrant and I'll be happy to."

You watched as the man on the camera tilted his head from side to side before landing a solid kick on the door. Fuck. The dog stood growling and snarling at the door. "Come with me, dog," you ordered and he immediately fell into step beside you as you moved through the house. You heard shouting outside and wondered exactly how many men were out there. 

You pulled out your phone and dialed John's number.

"Hey, Y/N," he answered and you could hear the smile in his voice. "What's up?"

"A lot of pissed off men are attempting to break into your house right now," you said, keeping your voice low. You kept low as you moved through the house, not wanting anyone to follow your movements. You smirked as you realized John had arranged everything for optimal coverage. 

"What?" he asked after a pause.

"Do you have a lockdown mode for this house? A panic room? Arsenal? Anything?" 

"Where are you in the house?" he asked as you heard a window break somewhere. The smell of smoke soon followed.

"Shit. Main level by the stairs. They're trying to burn me out. I need a better weapon, John."

"There's a sidearm in the tank in the bathroom across from you with an extra clip. There's more ammo in the box springs in your room."

"Call you back," you told him as you slid into the bathroom and tossed the lid to the toilet tank to the side. As promised you found a Glock with an extra clip in a waterproof bag inside. It even had a silencer. How lovely. You moved to your room, the dog on your heels. It only took a moment to find the promised extra ammunition. 

More glass shattered as they threw in more firebombs. Assholes. John was never going to let you housesit again. You stood beside the window in your room and glanced out. No one was immediately visible. You put several rounds through the glass then threw the chair from the corner through to break most of it away. You hopped out turning back to see the dog had already followed you. 

He barked and lunged past you and you spun to see a man dressed in black approaching across the lawn. You put a bullet in his head and patted the dog as you ran across the grass. You briefly thought about just getting out of here, but quickly changed your mind. These assholes needed to die. 

You stayed to the shadows, cursing your lack of footwear as rocks cut into the soles of your feet. Whenever you encountered another person, you put them down, quickly and effectively. It didn't take long for you to eliminate them all. Maybe you should have left one alive to interrogate, but that wasn't exactly easy to do in your current situation. Besides, guys like these were like rats. You killed one and ten more swarmed out of the woodwork.

After one last look around, you pulled out your phone to call John. You had no doubt he was freaking out as it was. You shouldn't make him wait any longer to hear from you. Just as you were about to dial, you were tackled from behind.

***

"Damn it," John muttered as he tried your number for the third time. Again you didn't answer. Not wanting to distract you, he'd waited for a half hour for you to call him back. When you hadn't he'd started trying to reach you. He pressed the button again. You had to answer. He'd already lost Helen. He couldn't lose you. Fear settled in his chest as you once again failed to answer your phone. He tossed his on the seat beside him and pressed his foot down on the accelerator. 

When he arrived at his house, it was to find it mostly burned. The fire department still milled about along with some local cops he was familiar with and a coroner's van. He swallowed past the lump in his throat as he stepped out of the car and stared at the scene before him. One of the officers approached him. "Good to see you, John. We thought you might have been inside."

His gaze darted to the cop then back to the ruins of his home. "I was out of town on business. What happened?"

"We don't know. Too early to tell. Any guesses?"

He shook his head and pressed his lips together to keep from asking if they'd found anyone in the rubble. 

"Was anyone staying here? We found the remains of a truck in the garage. I didn't recognize it."

That was your truck. Any shred of hope he had left that you'd escaped fled with that revelation. He cleared his throat. "Dog sitter. Let me know if you find anything, yeah?"

The officer nodded. "Sorry, John."

He nodded and got back into his car. He needed to find out who had done this. Who was responsible for your death and make them pay. There was only one place he could go to regroup and get the information he needed.

When John arrived at the Continental, it was almost like coming home. He'd been here often enough. Charon stood in his normal place behind the front desk. "Ah, Mr. Wick," he said as John reached the desk. "We have been expecting you." He slid a key across the counter and John snatched it up. 

"Appointments have been arranged for you with the Sommelier, the Seamstress and the Manager for tomorrow. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

John thought for a moment but just shook his head. There was nothing anyone could do for him. He needed you and no one could give him that. He ran a hand down his face as he rode the elevator to the correct floor. He let himself in the room and locked the door behind him. He leaned against it, feeling utterly drained. It took him a moment to realize that water was running in the bathroom.

His head jerked up and his gaze fell on his dog laying in the middle of one of the beds. That could only mean...He dropped his hand and headed straight to the bathroom. He opened the door and without pausing, yanked back the curtain. 

***

You jumped about foot in the air when your shower curtain suddenly flew open. John stood on the other side gaping at you for about half a second before he stepped into the shower clothes and all. His hands cupped your face as his lips found yours. You didn't even have time to be shocked or surprised. And frankly, you'd wanted him to kiss you for so long you weren't about to complain. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed yourself against him as you deepened the kiss. 

His hands ran down your back to your ass where he gave you a firm squeeze. You jumped a little and he smiled against your lips. He pulled back only far enough to press his forehead to yours. "I thought I'd lost you. Christ, Y/N. I never want to go through that again."

You began unbuttoning his shirt as you spoke. "Sorry. Misplaced my phone." You pushed the shirt off his shoulders and he tossed it on the floor.

He stepped back and began unfastening his trousers. "I want to hear everything. Later."

Your tongue darted out to lick your lips. "Definitely later."


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a separate one shot with the same Reader so it doesn't immediately follow the previous chapter.

It could have been worse. That’s what you told yourself when you finished the job. As you hobbled to your car and drove home. And now again as you parked and dragged yourself from the vehicle. A grunt of pain accompanied the movement and you clenched your teeth to keep from crying out. Okay, so this job could have gone a lot better, but it could have been worse.

You hobbled to the private elevator that would take you to the penthouse and were careful to touch as little as possible. You could take the car to the garage at the Continental to be cleaned but they didn’t do house calls. You had to have your own people for that. The elevator dinged as it arrived at your floor and the doors slid open to show Dog waiting for you. He whined which is unusual for him but you figured he could smell the blood.

“Y/N? You home?” John called from deeper in the apartment.

You considered responding, but that seemed like more effort than you cared to put forth at the moment. He’d come check when you didn’t answer. You shuffled into the apartment, hand braced against the material you had packing the wound in your side.

“Y/N?” he called again as he stepped out where you could see each other. His eyes went wide as he took you in. “Shit.” He hurried to your side, leaving the gun in his hand on the kitchen counter as he passed by. “What the hell happened?”

“Ow.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist and you gratefully let him take most of your weight. “Ow? That’s your response?” There was a hint of laughter in his voice, which is what you’d been hoping for.

He worried about you anyway. Coming home like this certainly wasn’t going to help. He lowered you onto the chair you kept in the bathroom for just this purpose and scurried around gathering everything he needed to take care of you. Your eyes followed his swift, sure movements. You both had this down to a fine art by now though your roles were usually reversed.

He placed everything on the floor nearby and knelt in front of you with a pair of scissors in his hand. He cut your shirt open and slid it off that way. His eyes ran over you taking in every cut, scrape and bruise. When his eye fell on the makeshift bandage on your side, he swallowed hard. He glanced up to meet your eye before removing it.

You mustered up a small smile. “Hi.”

He flashed a grin. “Hi.” A quick kiss to your lips and he was all business again. “You ready for this?”

“Hell, no.”

He chuckled and pulled the fabric away in one quick movement. You hissed through your teeth.

“Christ, Y/N.” He grabbed a clean rag and recovered the wound immediately as it was still bleeding though not as badly as it was earlier. “Hold that,” he instructed.

You put your hand on top of the rag and watched as he prepared the needle and thread to stitch you up.

He glanced over at you. The furrow in his brow smoothed slightly as he noticed you watching him. “Anything else I need to worry about, or is that it?”

“Pretty sure the rest just need to be cleaned up.”

He made a sound of agreement and pulled the cloth away. “This is gonna hurt.”

“When doesn’t it?” You’d no sooner gotten the words out of your mouth than he poured disinfectant over the wound. “Son of a bitch,” you yelled.

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. He was probably enjoying this. Sadistic bastard. He glanced at you and you realized you’d said that last bit out loud. Oops. You grinned and he shook his head as he went back to stitching. “I thought this was supposed to be an easy hit. What happened?”

You grunted in irritation. It was supposed to be easy. Snipe the target and slink away, no one the wiser as to who pulled the trigger. “There was a complication.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything, Y/N.”

“You remember Gabriel, right?”

John paused briefly and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. He continued doctoring the wound before he answered you. “You mean the man who burned down my house, tried to kill you and whose empire we’ve slowly been taking out over the last six months? Yeah, I remember.”

“Job was a setup.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“On the plus side, I took out those two thugs of his that we haven’t been able to get past.” You’d been having difficulty getting to Gabriel directly because of his guards. Since this was a personal mission with no pay involved the two of you were not taking any more risk than absolutely necessary. Besides the longer it took you to kill him, the longer he had to live in fear. It was a win-win scenario.

He finished up his stitching and cut the thread. He stood and held out a hand to help you up. “They the ones that did this?”

“Yeah. They waited for me to show up and jumped me.”

He left you leaning against the counter and went over to prepare the shower. “I told you I didn’t like the job when you told me about it.”

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t have to. He was obviously right and as much as you wanted to argue that, you couldn’t. The client had demanded the kill at a specific time and place. Such jobs rarely went well, but you’d done them before with no issues. “No more solo jobs,” he instructed as he helped strip the rest of your clothes.

“Fine,” you agreed as you stepped under the spray in the shower. The water stung as it hit your injuries but the promise of being clean made it worth it. “Same goes for you then, Wick. No more solo work.”

“Fair enough.”

You hadn’t expected him to agree without at least making a comment so you turned to look at him. He was taking off his own clothes and grinned when he realized he had your attention. Your gaze ran over him and you bit your lip as you watched him saunter over and step in with you.

His hands wrapped around your upper arms and his dark eyes looked you over. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, John. I’ll be hurting for a couple of days, but I’m all right.” Even when he saw to your injuries himself, he wanted reassurance from you that there wasn’t anything serious that he’d missed. Figuring it was the remnants of what he’d been through with Helen, you gladly gave him what he sought.

He nodded once and swallowed. Reaching past you, he grabbed the handheld showerhead from its holder. “Let me look you over.” He took his time, rinsing the blood and grime away from your skin and checking your wounds as he came across them. When he finished the front, you turned so he could examine the back.

His fingers ghosted along the edge of a wound on your shoulder. “This one could use a couple of stitches.”

You groaned. “No more stitches. Glue it.”

He gave that low laugh of his and put the showerhead back. His lips pressed against the damp skin near the wound. “No more stitches,” he promised.

Next, he washed your hair, his fingers massaging the shampoo through the strands as he checked your skull for any injuries you’d missed. Once you were clean he helped you out and dried you off, pausing only to fix the slice in your shoulder with some surgical glue. That done, he swept you up in his arms to carry you to the bed.

Protesting wouldn’t do any good, so you just leaned your head against his chest and let him take care of you. He was good at it. Once he had you tucked under the covers, he climbed in behind you. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back against him, taking care not to jostle the wound in your side.

You sighed in contentment. This was always your favorite part of the day. Just being held by the man you loved. He kissed the back of your neck. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

“For what?”

“Everything. Taking care of me. Loving me.”

He hummed. “If you really want to thank me, there is one thing you can do.”

You laughed. “Really? And just what might that be?”

His arm tightened around you. “Marry me.”

You sucked in a breath. Surely you hadn’t heard him correctly. You didn’t think he’d ever want to get married again. “You don’t have to do this because you think this is what I want.”

He propped himself up on his elbow and you turned slightly so you could see him better. “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t want it, Y/N.”

There was no questioning the sincerity in his eyes. After another moment of silence, you grinned. “I would love to marry you.”

He mirrored your expression and leaned down to kiss you, stopping a breath away from your lips. “That’s good, because I can’t return the ring.”

The comment startled a laugh from you and John soon joined you as he feathered kisses along your lips.

“Ow,” you groaned at the twinge of pain in your side, but then you were right back to laughing. John’s head dropped down to rest on the curve where your neck and shoulder met. His shoulders shook with his mirth. God, you loved this man.

Once the two of you had composed yourselves, he pushed himself up so he could see your face again. You laid a hand on his cheek as you smiled up at him. “Mrs. Baba Yaga. I can hardly wait.”


End file.
